Saturday, June 30, 2007

Uh...Hello...New mixtape bitch...Iz called Da Drout 3 [laughs]...Yeah...This was supposed to be the intro, but uhm...I guess ima gonna uhm...Do what yall came here for...

[in Rastafarian voice]Yeah...Rasta dem king of the jungle,Dread lock swing down me back like Reppunsle.My bread don't swing. Dem packs in a bundle;We'll take your tings, sell it back to your uncle.And we'll make it rain till your dances will come true;We'll make it rain so you betta bring a swimsuit.Alone when I came, but I'm leavin with them two;Gals give me brain, give me brain like temples.And him got the game, game sharp like a pencil;And if you want formage we can crash like a symbol.And Let prepare me window, on my new sports coupe;twelve hoarses in the hood, sittin on hoarse shoes.Come from the land that Jesus walked through;Sacrifice me life, man I bleed for me uncle.Them no want to run, run with me them no want to;Murder them, and the family them belong to.Next ting them kno I run a street like a cardoor;You go after me, me I dearly depart you.Hip hop is mine now, Mine what you gone do?;I can jump on any nigga song and make a part two.Playtime for me, cuz see to me, they are cartoons;how come every joint be on point like a harpoon?How come evry bar stand strong like a barstool?;how come every line is so raw you gone snort too?